


Resonance is Far Away

by AngelWithAStory



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Aliases, Apologies, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury Recovery, Light Angst, M/M, Medium to fast burn, Other, Post-Season 2, References to Depression, i would say slow burn but we'd both know i was lying, my kink is characters sitting down and talking about their feelings like adults, sure they may not come to an understanding just yet but that doesn't mean they won't, talking things through like adults
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-06-30 11:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19852204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelWithAStory/pseuds/AngelWithAStory
Summary: Being on the same ship together had been… an experience, to put it lightly. They’d barely spoken without the others also there discussing the upcoming job, and Nureyev seemed to make certain that they weren’t ever caught in the same room together without a witness.Juno and Peter finally talk





	1. Let Our Minds Run in Circles

**Author's Note:**

> so i finally caught up on the penumbra podcast and uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhh i remember why i love it so dearly
> 
> I hope we get a canon reunion scene between the two of them and hashing it out and gaining a healthy foundation for a relationship but I know realistically that the penumbra podcast can, must, should and will hurt me. so I wrote it myself because they both deserve it
> 
> title is from Hungover in the City of Dust by Autoheart bc it's suuuuuuuch a Juno song and i had it on repeat when writing this

Juno Steel had woken up hungover more times in his life than he cared to count. The dull ache in his bones and lurch of his gut was as familiar as his bed or Rita’s streams by this point in his life. 

If you tallied them all up, the number of days that started with a hangover _vastly_ outnumbered the days that started sober (though, to his credit - and Rita’s not so gentle encouragement - that number was increasing daily). 

Juno was so used to the feeling of waking up with a hangover, that it was still a pleasant surprise when it was nowhere to be found. 

Rita’s loud snoring from the bed above him was also familiar, but for an unrelated reason; it was just as comforting. 

The previous day’s events returned to Juno as he blinked away the sleep in his eyes and gathered his bearings. There was an office building, and a meeting, and fake names and Nureyev - _Luka Howell_ as he was now - gripping his arm as they slipped down darkened hallways and a blaster in his hands set to stun and Jet’s hand on his ankle as he sat on the edge of the car’s window to shoot out the tyres of their pursuers. 

Juno could swear he still felt the adrenaline in his blood as he sat up from where he lay on the floor. Whatever blanket he had dragged with him when he fell asleep on Rita’s floor was tangled around his ankles and his sleep-ridden limbs needed a minute to kick it off. He was still dressed in his shorts and sleep shirt, so at least he didn't need to worry about decency.

He remembered getting back to the ship and almost falling over with the speed of which they took off. (Luckily, he remembered, Nureyev had reached out to catch him: some half-instinct buried deep down and politely ignored). He remembered Rita knocking the breath from his lungs with an embrace and the two of them sitting on her bed, watching an old stream on her monitor, ignoring a pain in his shoulder he didn’t have before the mission. 

Judging from the lack of voices when Juno stuck his head out of Rita’s room, it must still have been pretty early. It seemed Juno’s body still only liked to sleep in short bursts. 

Juno’s footsteps barely made a sound as he made his way through the rabbit warren to the ship’s kitchen, waking up with each nip of the cold metal against his bare feet. Even after a week and a half, Juno still counted the doors and got it wrong the first time. 

By the time Juno opened the door to the kitchen, he still wasn’t expecting to see someone sat at the rickety old table they ate their meals around. 

“Oh. Good morning, Juno.”

Peter Nureyev’s honeyed voice still felt like a luxury Juno had waived his rights to, but there it was nonetheless. Attached to the bed-dishevelled man cradling a cup of coffee and peering at Juno from behind glasses he was pretty sure Nureyev didn’t actually need. His nightdress looked like it was made of something Juno wouldn’t even pretend to have heard of, and his silk dressing gown was hanging off one shoulder in a way that was half endearing and half deliberate.

Being on the same ship together had been… an experience, to put it lightly. They’d barely spoken without the others also there discussing the upcoming job, and Nureyev seemed to make certain that they weren’t ever caught in the same room together without a witness. 

Juno knew the smart thing was to quickly complete his objective (grab a cup of coffee) and get out. He should give Nureyev the space he needed. Hell - Juno knew _he_ wasn’t ready for whatever talk was looming on the horizon. Hyperion City was still a bad dream Juno hadn’t quite shaken off and there were days he had to lock himself away so the others couldn’t see how much he was shaking. 

The chair scraped slightly against the floor and Juno sat down heavily, holding his coffee-filled mug in one hand. 

Nureyev watched him like he was waiting for a trap to go off, but he didn’t leave and Juno didn’t bother ignoring that small bloom of relief inside his lungs. There was still a respectable distance between them - both too small and too great. After everything they’d been through, Juno didn’t know what he was supposed to feel about it. 

The coffee was too hot but Juno still took a long sip to try and collect his thoughts. 

Ah Hell. May as well tear the bandaid off. 

“I’m sorry.”

Nureyev’s expression was unreadable. Juno took a deep breath. Staring into the depth of his cup, he carried on. 

“I hurt you. A lot and, hell I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again. I’m not going to sit here and try to make excuses, because I have a feeling you wouldn’t want to hear them anyway. I can’t change what I did. All I can do is try to move forward and make life better for both of us.”

The words came from somewhere in Juno that he didn’t let breathe often. Some hidden place Juno thought died long ago but instead lay dormant. A seed waiting for water. 

“Well.” It felt like an eternity until Nureyev spoke. “Who are you and what have you done with Juno Steel?”

It was as close to forgiveness - no, too strong; _acceptance_ \- as Juno knew he was going to get. His sigh of relief came out as a small laugh and he knew he must have dreamt the small shine in Nureyev’s eye. 

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” Nureyev said after a delicate sip from his mug. There was a hard edge to his voice “You did leave me in the middle of the night and break my heart.”

“I know, and I don’t expect you to forgive me, Nureyev. I don’t want you to let me off the hook just because I asked.” It was a risk using his name like that, but it was just the two of them here and Juno didn’t have the energy to keep his defences up. 

“And what _do_ you want, Juno Steel?” 

“I want to stop hurting the people I care about.” Juno finally forced himself to meet Nureyev’s eye. He tried to convey _everything_ in that glance; everything that happened with the Theia Spectrum, Ramses O’Flaherty, the Cerberus Province, Newtown, Hanataba. Meeting the ghost of his brother and carrying Benten in heart even now. How many mornings he woke up hoping to see a different face on the pillow next to his, and how every single time he was disappointed. How his voice of reason in his deepest dreams (his nightmares) always seemed to look like Peter Nureyev. 

Juno ached with how much he wanted to fall to his knees and spill his soul on the kitchen floor in the abstract hope that Nureyev would watch and see someone worthy of his forgiveness. 

But Juno knew when he earned forgiveness. He knew he wanted to do better - _be_ better - and he knew this was one thing he couldn’t will his way out of. He couldn’t force an understanding between them. 

So Juno waited, nursing his coffee. 

“My, how you’ve changed while I’ve been away.” The words were playful but Juno could almost _feel_ the accusation. The implicit _liar_ buried beneath the words. 

“I hope so,” Juno said honestly, catching even himself off-guard. “Turns out I didn’t like who I was. I wasn’t proud of who I was becoming, either.”

“And becoming a criminal was the solution to that problem?” 

“In a word: yeah. Kinda. The big guy offered me a chance to start over, and I took it.”

“What about Hyperion City?” 

Juno knew he deserved the bite in Nureyev’s words. It didn’t make it hurt less. 

“There’s nothing left for me there. This time I made the right choice.” 

Juno’s gaze is piercing and for the first time, Peter looks away. 

It’s not forgiveness - it won’t be for a while - but Juno still feels his heart flutter at the small flick of Nureyev’s eye to his and away again. Coy. Familiar. 

“I have to admit this isn’t how I expected this conversation to go at all,” Nureyev says after a moment. Juno realises his mug is empty, and he can’t remember when it ran out. “There’s not nearly enough gunfire or risk of death.”

Juno laughs a little at that. 

“Well like I said, I’m not looking for forgiveness I haven’t earned.” Juno promised, “And if you decide that looking at my face every day is too much then… I’ll let you get in one free shot before I start running.” 

It was meant to be a joke but Juno wasn’t sure if it fell flat or Nureyev was still trying to process his words. 

A rumble kicked in somewhere deep in the ship and Juno knew the others would probably be waking up now. He stood, standing with his back to Nureyev as he cleaned out his mug. He gave Peter a long moment, unobserved. 

The absence of running water made the silence in the kitchen deafening and Juno gripped the counter for a few seconds, taking a shaky breath. 

“I’m gonna hit the showers. See you around, Howell.” Juno said, the false name rolling off his tongue with practice, but still clumsy. 

Nureyev didn’t reply, and when the door closed behind him, Juno leant against the wall for a quick moment to try and will himself forwards. 

The earliest lesson Juno Steel ever learned was that life wasn’t easy. If you wanted something you had to work for it, and even when you got it, you had to fight to keep it. He knew breaking through a lifetime of bad decisions and shitty circumstances and relentless trauma would take more than a week and half onboard a criminal’s ship to undo. He knew there was a good chance it would never be completely undone. That there would always be a part of him that flinched at a certain gesture or froze from a certain phrase. 

Life was tough but Juno had lasted this long, so that meant he was tougher. 

The floor was beginning to warm under his bare feet as the ship kicked to life and Juno Steel prepared himself to face the day.


	2. There's No Feeling in My Left Arm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so apparently this fic is now a _thing_ considering I went to sleep immediately after posting the first chapter thinking of all the future chapters it could have. ah well, lets do it
> 
> I'll edit it this properly in the morning.
> 
> content warnings for injury, mentions of blood and references to past drug use/alcoholism

There were a lot of new sounds on the ship that Rita was getting used to. There was the low hum of the engines, the raspiness of the air filtration system, footsteps that weren’t Mistah Steel’s roaming the halls. 

A loud crash _wasn’t_ one of those sounds. Especially when it was coming from Mistah Steel’s room. 

“MISTAH STEEL!” Rita cried out, barely waiting for the door to Juno’s room to open fully before running inside.

“Rita, stay back!” Juno shouted. 

Rita skidded to a halt and finally took in the scene before her. Juno was standing up from where he was crouched in the middle of his floor, barefoot but dressed for the day, holding his left hand in his right. There was glass scattered on the floor around him and what was probably the in-tact base of a cup amongst it. 

“Hey, Rita, can you throw me those slippers by the door?” Juno asked, pointing at them with his right hand. She did as she asked, throwing them one at a time so he could catch them. He kept his left hand half-open and away from his body as he carefully pulled his slippers on. 

“ _Boss_ , what happened? What’s wrong with your hand?” 

“Nothing, Rita.” Juno shot back on instinct, before taking a shallow breath. _Honesty_. “I dropped a glass, and I was trying to clean up when you burst through the door so I slipped and cut my hand.”

“Oh Mistah Steel, I’m sorry, let me have a look at your hand.” Rita stepped over the glass, gently taking Juno’s hand in hers. He let out a small hiss as she uncurled his fingers slightly. 

Honestly, she’d seen worse injuries inflicted from a bad day in the office, so it wasn’t like she was worried too much about his health. Rita was instead worried about the unguarded look in Juno’s eye and still so proud of how much better he had been these last few months, she didn’t want something little like this to become a setback. 

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Rita assured him, letting him half-close his hand again. “Still, we’d best get you to Miss Vespa so she can look at it. Just to check it over.”

“It doesn’t hurt that bad-” Juno tried to protest, his shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly beneath his shirt, and Rita knew what that meant.

“It’s not about how much it hurts, Mistah Steel. What if there was something nasty hidden in the glass and now it’s in you and oh this is just like this stream I watched once and-” Rita could feel herself rambling, predictably, Juno stopped her. 

“Rita, I’m _fine_. But I’ll get Vespa to look over this if it makes you feel better.” He promised. 

“Good. You go see her now, and I’ll clean all this up.” Rita said, taking Juno’s arm and already pushing him in the direction of the door.

“Rita, I can clean up my own mess-”

“No time to argue, now go, _go!_ ” Rita didn’t miss the amused smile on his face as she shoved him out of his own room. 

“Alright, _alright_ , I’m going!” Juno said. The door didn’t close behind him and he only spared a glance back at Rita, who made a shooing gesture at him until he carried on walking. 

It had been just over two weeks since they came on board, and a few days since Juno had tried to clear the air with Nureyev. He certainly wasn’t _settled_ , but he definitely did feel more at ease as time went on and the threat of being kicked out of this merry band of thieves slowly eased. (He knew, realistically, that there was no threat. No one had brought it up, and Rita would never let him be kicked out anyway, but Juno still didn’t like not having a back-up plan in case things went south.)

Vespa was the only one on the ship who really knew what she was doing when it came to medicine, and regularly acted as the de facto doctor onboard. The room they’d designated as the infirmary was probably meant to be a spare bedroom that has been stripped bare and disinfected, which meant it was pretty close to the cluster of bedrooms in the back end of the ship. 

It also meant that Vespa usually didn’t hang out in the infirmary, just waiting to see if someone needed minor medical help. 

Juno wasn’t in the habit of rifling through drawers that didn’t need to be rifled through, but with the infirmary empty and his hand still bleeding, Juno figured there wasn’t any harm in finding the butterfly stitches himself.

“You know we keep the good stuff under lock and key.” 

Juno’s head hit the cabinet door as he turned to face who was talking. 

Buddy stood in the doorway, watching him with an amused expression that faltered slightly when she saw his hand. 

“Oh, darling, what did you do to yourself?” Buddy points to what constituted a hospital bed on the ship in a silent order for Juno to sit, which to his credit, he did. He watched her tie her hair back in such a way that it still covered her eye, but even distracted, Juno knew he was being scrutinised.

“I dropped a glass in my room and Rita scared me when I was trying to clean it up,” Juno said, fighting the urge to let his legs swing off the edge of the bed. He tucked one leg beneath the other knee to keep himself composed. 

“Accidents happen, I guess.” Buddy conceded, turning back to him with a couple of things in her hands. Juno could see the gloves, sterile wipes and disinfectant as she began to prepare, but his gut sank a little when he spied the little bottle of pills amongst them. Buddy glanced at him without meeting his eye, seemingly catching ahold of a stray thought. She straightened her back and turned to Juno, holding the wipe in her gloved hand.

Without waiting to be told, Juno tentatively held out his injured hand, and Buddy took it, gently forcing his hand open so she could get to the cut along his palm. The disinfectant stung like a _bitch_ when Buddy ran it across his wound and Juno couldn’t keep back the small flinch. Buddy smiled to herself, but she didn’t stop cleaning. 

“I’m glad my pain amuses you.” Juno deadpanned, gripping his ankle tightly with his free hand so he could keep his injured hand relaxed. 

“Who knew the infamous Juno Steel could be a baby over a little disinfectant?” Buddy teased. 

“I think I’m being quite brave right now, actually.” Juno shot back. 

“I’ll make sure you get a sticker.” Buddy said, methodically wiping away the semi-dried blood. “So, uh, you got a story behind why you looked at those painkillers like that?”

“Like what?” Juno asked. Buddy gave him a _look_ and Juno mentally tallied up his options. 

On one hand, his promise to be better; on the other, some things felt like weaknesses to admit. 

Juno felt the phantom touch of Mercury’s hands shaking him away and the memory of waking up vomit-stained and crying in his bathroom came to him, unbidden. But that was a long, long time ago. 

Buddy must have been a mind-reader - or maybe Juno’s face told more than he expected - because she let out a soft ‘ _oh_ ’ and gently patted the back of his hand as she put the blooded wipe to the side. 

“How long you been clean?” Buddy asked, releasing Juno’s hand and walking back to the cupboards of supplies. Juno was thankful for that, and he knew why Buddy did it. 

“Clean? Twelve years, going on thirteen. Sober? Only a couple months.” Juno admitted, gentle running his thumb along the side of his injured palm. 

“Well, that’s certainly something to celebrate,” Buddy said, with no hint of sarcasm in her voice. “I was wondering why you and Rita left the party early a few days ago. Guess I have my answer now.”

Juno tried to think of a reply that wasn’t pathetic in some way, so instead, he said something else.

“Don’t be offended if I skip the next afterparty we have up here.” Juno said, watching Buddy walk back with a small pouch that made him nervous. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, darling. I know a thing or two about kicking bad habits, I don’t think anyone on board would try and sabotage that.” Buddy said. It sounded like a promise, one that Juno knew she was going to keep to the best of her ability. Hell, Buddy was probably already filing that information away for safe-keeping. 

She opened the pouch and Juno felt a mixture of relief and sickening realisation. 

“That cut on your hand’s too deep for just a bandage-”

“So I need stitches,” Juno said, shifting just a little on the bed. 

“Only a couple,” Buddy said, a note of apology in her voice. “I can get some different painkillers if yo-”

“Just do it, I’ll take them after,” Juno said. “It’s not like it’ll be the first time I’ve been stitched up sober.” 

“I’d feel better if you took something before I put a needle through the palm of your hand, Juno.” Buddy tried to argue.

“I’ll take something if it’ll make you feel better, but I don’t need them.”

He wasn’t trying to act tough, and Juno wasn’t lying when he said this wouldn’t be the first time this had happened to him. He’d patched himself up enough in his Private Eye career in various states of inebriation that he knew exactly what to expect and how much to brace himself. And after everything the Theia did to his body, Juno was pretty sure his tolerance for pain had skewed in an unexpected direction.

Buddy still looked unsure, but Juno held out his hand expectantly.

“Alright, but you’re taking it easy for the rest of the day. That’s an order.” Buddy said, only half-joking. 

“Aye, aye, captain,” Juno said, watching Buddy thread the suture needle. She took her time getting the supplies in order and then gently arranged Juno’s hand. 

“You need to stay perfectly still.” She warned, glancing up at his face with an unreadable expression. Juno nodded. Buddy took a deep, steadying breath. 

Juno Steel could lie and say that it didn’t hurt when Buddy carefully put two stitches into the palm of his hand. He could easy wave it off with an ‘ _I’ve had worse_ ’ and dodge any follow-up questions. 

But Juno Steel was strangely committed to this whole self-improvement thing, and an important part of that (according to Rita, at least) was accepting his feelings, even if he didn’t show them. 

So Juno Steel didn’t outwardly show the pain he was in, but he still forced his lungs to keep taking deep and even breaths. His knuckles paled with how forcefully he gripped his ankle, and he could feel Buddy glancing up at him every once in a while to gauge his reaction. 

“It’s a shame this happened today,” Buddy said idly, tying off the final stitch, “we were going to start planning a new heist tonight. Could’ve used your sharpshooter skills, too.” 

“You’ll still have them,” Juno promised, stretching his fingers just a bit to try and ease the tension in them.

“Even you can’t shoot with an injured hand-”

“No, but I can shoot with my other hand,” Juno said. “It’ll just take me a minute to get used to it.”

Buddy looked at him for a long, quiet moment. She was obviously mulling something over, but Juno could also make an educated guess at to what exactly it would be. 

“We’ll see.” Buddy promised, pressing the clean bandage to Juno’s hand and winding it tightly. There was an apprehension about her - something tentative - like she still had something to say but didn’t know how to say it. 

So instead, she taped down the bandage and began to clean up after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the author would like to personally apologise for the medical practices described in the fic, as she knows shit-all about medicine and medical practices. however, she _has_ had stitches on her shoulder before and drew a lot from that experience
> 
> fun fact: the chapter title is another lyric from Hungover in the City of Dust that i misheard as 'no feeling in my left eye' the first few times i listened to it


	3. Powder in my Fingernails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter bc my sister was up over the weekend and this was all i could muster up. 
> 
> the response to the other 2 chapters has been really lovely and honestly, it's the real driving force in actually making sure i'm writing something for this every day. it's really nice to flex my fanfic skills after so many months of original script work (both to practice and also for my theatre society to put on in nov.) 
> 
> I'm going away on friday on holiday for 2 weeks so i doubt i'll be able to update over then, but with any luck i'll have another short chapter up before then and (if the past is any indicator) a long chapter or two for afterwards <3

_Breathe in._

Juno’s grip shifted minutely. 

_Breathe out_. 

Block out all noise.

 _Breathe in_.

Pull the trigger. 

_Next target_.

Pull the trigger

 _Next target_.

Pull the trigger.

_Next target._

Pull the trigger. 

_Next target._

Pull the trigger. 

_Next target_ _._

Pull the trigger. 

_Next target_.

Pull the trigger. 

Juno let his arms fall, removing his finger from the trigger. All the tension in his muscles slowly loosened. His gaze swept over the fallen targets, counting them as he went. Six immediately beneath their pedestal, but the last one was a little ways off to the side. His aim must’ve been slightly off, hit it at an angle. 

_Damn_. 

Still, at least he hit it this time. 

He was getting better at accommodating for the missing eye.

“How fast was that?” Juno asked, already holstering his gun and resetting the targets. His voice echoed every so slightly in the ship’s cargo hold. Juno carefully avoided looking at the old scorch marks on the makeshift pedestals the bottles were placed on.

Jet looked up from the timer in his hand. Even without the jacket, he was still an impressively imposing man but Juno had long since felt intimidated by him. Not after watching him fawn over Rita and listening intently to her rambling about some stream or another that she watched a couple of months ago. 

(He could argue that he hadn’t been intimidated by the man ever since Hanataba, but they hadn’t strictly been coworkers at that point, and Juno didn’t want to admit how calming Jet’s presence had been during that time.)

“Three-point-four,” Jet replied, “You’re improving.” 

“Not enough,” Juno muttered, mostly to himself. He took a few extra seconds to steady the final bottle, avoiding the moment he needed to turn around and look at Jet. 

“What was your previous record?” Jet asked, and Juno had the uncanny feeling he was being looked right through. 

“Without the Theia? Two-point-two.” 

“Under what circumstances?” Jet asked, letting Juno see where he was going with this conversation.

“You don’t have to do this, big guy,” Juno said.

“I know. But you lack perspective.” 

“Way to rub it in,” Juno quipped, losing hold of his composure just a little. Then he felt a hand resting heavily on his shoulder and let his frustration go. 

_Damn_ , it was hard work trying to be a better person. It was so much easier when he could just internalise all his frustration until it overflowed at an inopportune moment. 

Jet carefully pried the gun out of Juno’s hand, clicking the safety on and placing it down on a crate nearby.

“Your hand is bleeding.” Jet tried to pull Juno’s hand towards him to inspect the small spots that had cropped up on the bandage, but Juno held his hand close to his chest.

“It’s fine,” Juno said reflexively, “It doesn’t even hurt anymore.” 

“You might have pulled the stitches,” 

“I didn’t,” Juno argued. 

“Juno.” 

Jet didn’t sound angry (though, when did he ever?) but Juno knew the fight was over pretty quickly. He let Jet take his hand and didn’t finch when Jet peeled back the bandage to check the stitches. 

“I know what it feels like to pull stitches, big guy.” Juno said, letting Jet inspect the closed wound and deem it okay, “I’ve been real careful this time. It’s been weeping a little, but that’s happened before when I’ve had stitches.”

Jet simply nodded and replaced the bandage, making sure it was still tight against Juno’s skin. 

“Buddy didn’t believe you when you told her you could still shoot-” Jet began.

“And that’s why we’re here doing target practice in the cargo hull,” Juno finished, “I figured. Gotta prove myself sooner or later.”

“You are a valuable person to this crew. You do not have to prove yourself.” Jet said. Juno huffed a little laugh as he reached for the gun again, picking it up with his right hand.

He wasn't as used to shooting with his right hand, especially when the HCPD had forced him to pick a dominant hand, but he tried not to let the talent weaken too much. Juno liked having that final element of surprise about him. 

“Maybe not to you,” Juno said, “but I think the figure in the shadows over there might disagree.” 

“How perceptive, Detective.” Nureyev - _Howell_ \- said, taking a few steps forward into the middle of the room. 

“I smelled your cologne when you snuck in here,” Juno didn’t meet his eye as he spoke, but he hoped it didn’t come across as soft as he meant it. 

“Do you need anything, Luka?” Jet asked, having taken an unconscious step-back from Juno. He didn’t know the specifics of their situation - he didn’t want to - but it took a fool to not see there was some _terrible_ history between them and the tentative, potential future. 

“I did, actually,” Howell said. “Buddy wants us in the command room as soon as possible.” 

Luka Howell had a talent for either taking up a room when he felt like it or blending straight into the background. He either dressed like the galaxy’s crowning heir or a moderately wealthy business owner’s son. Either the most charming man in the whole universe who would spend hundreds of creds on drinks for strangers or a kind stranger who would hand you back the wallet you dropped on the street who had a nice smile so you didn’t notice them steal the creds out of it. 

Luka Howell tolerated Juno Steel, and that was probably the most static part of the persona. 

“We will be there right away.” Jet promised. 

“You go ahead, big guy,” Juno said, turning his back on the two of them and lining up his aim. “I’ll catch you guys up.” 

“She said all of us, Juno,” Howell said, his tone hanging over Juno’s name for just half a second. (Juno could spend many nights thinking over what that meant but Occam’s Razor told him that it was just Nureyev trying to mess with him from beneath the persona.)

“Then give me a couple seconds to finish this,” Juno said, clicking the safety off. 

“Juno-” Howell’s voice faded into the background as Juno laser-focused on the targets in front of him. He saw Jet pull out the timer in his limited periphery.

 _Breathe in_.

It had taken longer than Juno would’ve liked to learn to compensate for his missing eye, but he was getting better each time he practiced. It was becoming more natural, more reflexive. 

He barely felt the twitch of his finger anymore. 

_Next target_.

_Next target_.

_Next target_.

_Next target_.

_Next target_.

_Next target_.

Juno pushed the nozzle of the gun down out of the line of fire, clicking the safety back on and standing to attention. 

“How was that, big guy?” Juno asked, not looking back as he methodically reset the bottles. 

“Two-point-nine.” Jet read off, and if Juno didn’t know any better, he would’ve said there was a small hint of pride in his voice. 

“Alright, I’m happy with that,” Juno said. He walked towards the entrance, moving past Jet and Howell, only stopping to hand off his weapon to Jet. 

Everything in him wanted to meet Howell’s eye, to try and convey every emotion, ever apology he had in him. He wanted to pull Howell aside, beg him to just _talk_ to him, let this awkwardness between them dissolve, let them maybe try and be _friends_ this time around, who gets the second chances they do?!

Juno let the door close behind him, and he didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you wanna get into my headspace when writing this fic, just have an endless loop of ' _hungover in the city of dust_ ', ' _ghosting_ ' by mother mother and ' _ghost_ ' by mystery skulls, with the occasional ' _sweet tooth_ ' by scott helman thrown in there for variety


	4. Insolent and Out of Character

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another kinda short chapter but it’s currently midnight where I am on holiday and I need to be up at 7 for a Day of Activities but Second Citadel is so very good i don’t wanna sleep ;______;

Vespa knew a thing or two about pining - not that she would ever admit it while she was still alive and kicking. She remembered the nights before Buddy was her wife when they would sleep side by side and Vespa would stay up just to make sure Buddy kept breathing. She remembered every little touch of Buddy’s hand against hers, tucking loose strands of hair behind ears, pressing down against wounds and whispering reassurances between pained breaths. 

Vespa knew what pining _looked_ like - she’d seen it enough times on Buddy’s face when she thought Vespa wasn’t looking - and she knew that the look on Luka Howell’s face certainly wasn’t pining. 

But it wasn’t far off. 

Just a bit too attentive to really be paying attention, body language just a tad too stiff to be standing comfortable, and most importantly, always leaving just a little too much room between himself and Juno to be accidental. 

Oh, there was a story there, Vespa was sure. And it was probably an interesting one, somewhere down the line. 

But it was an interesting story for another time. Not when they had a job to do.

“Okay, let’s go over the plan one last time.” Buddy said, standing at the head of the table in the command room. 

Vespa knew the plan like the back of her hand, so she preoccupied herself with watching the others. Juno and Rita were still reading over the material Buddy had handed them, while Jet and Luka simply listened, content to do their homework later. 

“Vespa, what’s our goal?” Buddy asked, looming over the table and placing her hands flat on its surface. The pen she was using to make notes on the scattered pages on the table lay uncapped off to the side, slowly dripping ink down itself. 

“Infiltrate the Crown Leviathan Casino and bust into the servers stored there to secure the second access key we need.” Vespa reeled off, smiling at the proud look on her wife’s face. 

“Jet, what’s your role in this?” Buddy said, turning her attention away from Vespa but still retaining that preening edge to her posture. 

“I am the chauffeur and get-away driver.” Jet answered, not mincing his words in that endearing way of his. “I stay on the comms at all times.” 

“Correct. Luka, what’s your job?” Buddy asked. 

“Well, I’m meant to pose as one of the patrons at the establishment, though I’m not sure about this alias you proposed, can we workshop it later? Perhaps-” Luka said, allowing himself to be cut off by Buddy’s raised hand - only a twitch of his lips to betray his plan all along. He wasn’t so much as leaning against the counter as he was _lounging_ in a very unsubtle way that even made Jet’s eyes flicker towards him once or twice in confusion. 

(Juno had not looked up from the few pages in his hands and maps spread out on the table before him.)

“We can make some adjustments, sure. But the backstory stays.” Buddy said. 

“I’m sure we can come to some kind of compromise, dear, don’t worry.” Luka assured her, inspecting his nails in a bored way before settling back in as Buddy’s attention shifted once more. 

“Rita, you know what you’re doing with this, darling?” She asked. 

“Sure I _know_ , but I’m still not too sure about it, Miss Buddy. I mean, I know I have to be inside the building to get into their systems but it just seems a bit _dangerous,_ you know? What if something goes wrong? Or one of us is recognised, I’m not good in a shoot-out, Mistah Steel can tell you all about this one time-”

Juno silently reached over and covered Rita’s hand with his, not breaking his concentration, but Rita did begin to calm down, even if her ramblings didn't _quite_ cease. She twisted her hand and squeezed Juno’s for a second. Then she took her hand back and Juno carried on studying the plans. 

Vespa was a little impressed, she wouldn’t be hard-pressed to admit. There was an easy chemistry between them that had probably taken years to build and probably couldn’t be broken as easily. That, at least, was a comfort. They both had someone to fall back on. 

Following Rita’s anxieties spilling, Luka quickly struck up an open conversation about their potential costumes and the minute details of their fabricated backstories. This in itself wasn’t particularly unusual - those details DID seem to be Luka’s favourite part of the job, after all. 

This exchange was only particularly noteworthy for Vespa, because she saw Juno’s eye glance at Luka just before Luka started talking. Vespa couldn’t read anything into that look, but she knew a distraction when she saw one. 

Juno wasn’t terribly discreet as he quickly started whispering something to Rita that was too indistinct for her to pick up, occasionally making small gestures towards one of the maps in front of him. Rita nodded, and Juno shifted away, closing their exchange. 

Vespa was amazed at how smooth that operation was, and it reminded Vespa to keep a very careful eye on that particular situation. 

“Juno? You with us?” Vespa asked, suddenly reminding (most) of the room of her presence. 

“Huh? Oh yeah, I’m just thinking.” Juno said, meeting her gaze for a moment. There was nothing deceptive in his eye, but Vespa hadn’t survived what she had by being overly trustworthy. 

“Anything you’d like to share with the class?” Luka asked. His voice was light and playful, but there was an underlying bite that intrigued Vespa. Hmm, intrigued may be too strong a word, but the idea was there. 

“Mistah Steel was just telling me places where I could stand during this job that’ll keep me outta the line of fire if the rest of you stay in certain areas.” Rita spoke up, not liking the shift in the atmosphere. 

“He was, was he?” Buddy asked, though not in any particular way. “What do you recommend, Juno?”

Juno was quiet for a few seconds - probably assessing the situation and weighing up his actions - before he leaned forwards over and spread out the maps further, so none of them overlapped. 

“Since Buddy and Vespa are posing as workers, there are a couple places they could end up. If Buddy ends up working the Northern Bar, then with the current rota we have of the dealers, Vespa will most likely end up working one of these three tables,” Juno said, pointing out on the map the positions as he spoke, “which means in order to have eyes on the entire room, Howell and I would have to be moving around here, and here, leaving a blindspot along this side. If this is the case, then Rita should stay at this booth just outside the Elite Guests area to cover our backs. If Buddy is assigned to the Southern Bar, then Vespa will probably be assigned to either of these two tables along the western edge. This means Luka and I can move freely around most of the casino, and allows Rita to stay close to Buddy’s position. If she stays in _this_ booth in particular, then she’s directly above the south-western corner of the server room, which has a direct access point from the hallway behind it.”

Juno sat back down as soon as his explanation was finished. There was nothing smug or righteous in either his tone or posture, but there was always room for improvement. This was the first time Vespa had seen that strategist side, and she could see another puzzle piece fall into place. 

No wonder Valles Vickey wanted to keep him. 

“Not bad, Steel.” Buddy said as neutrally as she could, but there was a small quirk on her lips. “I’m guessing that means you already know your role in this.”

“Patrol the floor acting as a patron with Howell. I’ll be keeping a gun at my side and acting as backup if something goes wrong.” Juno said. 

“We’ll go over the finer points of that last bit later, darling. How’s the hand doing?” Buddy asked, catching Juno by surprise. 

“It’s doing okay.” Juno said. 

“I’ll have a look at it this evening after dinner.” Vespa promised. 

“Which reminds me, who’s turn is it to cook?” Buddy asked, replacing the penlid with a satisfying _click._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i always feel like juno’s intelligence is underrated and forgotten (like, he solved the Proctor’s puzzles super fast) and he’s also a Crime Boi now so i wanted to write that
> 
> also Rita and Juno’s friendship continues to be sUPER important to me


	5. Love is As Love Was

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the working title of this fic is ‘Juno steel and the long road to recovery’ but like  
> there’s two sides to every equation  
> and this is the other side of it
> 
> title from The Sailor Song by Autoheart

* * *

There were a lot of things that could be said about Luka Howell. 

That he was vain. An attention whore. A nobody. A generous and forgiving man. That he never felt loved unless he was beneath someone, _anyone_. That it wasn’t worth staying in his bed afterwards, that you’d only wake up to empty sheets, _alone_ and _cold_...

None of it was true, of course, but the rumour mill wasn’t known for being kind, even if you were the one spinning it. 

Everything about Luka Howell was a carefully constructed web of lies and contradictions, spun out quickly to keep as many people away from the centre as possible. He hadn’t even bothered with doors when he built his walls back up after Juno-

Luka shook his head. His fingers sank deep into his loose hair, curling and gripping tightly. 

A deep breath rattled his chest. It felt like it echoed in his small room aboard the ship, but that was impossible. Like a lot of things, it felt worse than it was. 

It took another breath for his heart to slow again. And another before his hands released their grip. 

His reflection wasn’t judging him when his eyes finally dragged themselves back up, but it wasn’t impressed with what it saw. Nureyev had been doing okay before Buddy had contacted him - another well-constructed lie, carefully wrapped to preserve it - not great, but okay. He’d done a few jobs by himself, and he’d stopped waking up sad and disappointed every time he saw the empty side of the bed. A few names and personalities had come and gone, and he’d just thought up Luka, in fact, when the message popped up on his comms. 

_An opportunity_ , she wrote. _A place to stay_ , she promised. _An escape_ , he thought. 

Luka Howell brushed his hair out of his face, squaring his shoulders in the mirror. His hair was longer now than he usually kept it. All part of the image - he was a method actor; of course he would grow his hair out for the part. It was long enough now that he could tie it back out of his face. Long enough that Juno had never touched it. 

His makeup wasn’t finished and they had precious few hours until the plan was to be set in motion. For now, he had to get ready. 

He already had the dress he’d picked out laid across his bed. It was sheer enough to tease but the overlaid lace patterns were hypnotic if you looked for long enough. Tight enough to show off, but not restrictive. Long sleeves and an asymmetric skirt line, black and dark blue, high-necked and low-backed. It had cost a pretty penny once upon a time, but even Luka could admit it was worth it. 

It was entirely Luka Howell’s taste: expensive, decadent, and nothing ground-breaking. 

Pretty enough that he might catch a few eyes or a free drink, plain enough that he’ll be forgotten by the end of the night. 

Something about that was an odd comfort to Luka. It meant he could focus on the job without worrying about a mark standing in the way. 

Luka reached for the earrings he had already picked out and laid aside, carefully pushing the spokes through his ear. He always loved the routine of getting ready - the methodology of choosing how you’ll show yourself to the world, how you’ll decorate yourself, how it’ll be received. 

You could be a different person every day.

You could stay the same.

(One of those options was so much worse than the other.)

After the earrings was the necklace. Thick lines of diamonds that rested against his throat like a comforting hand. Not his usual style but Luka liked it. Liked to think some estranged lover had gifted it to him years before. That the diamonds were real as the love he had felt...

Heels! How could he forget heels? Almost at the final step before he could go join the others and start the mission, and he’d already forgotten something. Buddy and Vespa were already long gone, and Jet was only driving them to the edge of the estate, so Luka knew he couldn’t be too impractical with his choice. Something he could run in if he needed to (and knowing their track record, he _would_ need to). 

He pulled the first pair of heels he could grab towards him and slipped them on, securing the buckle around his ankle. 

Focus. He needed to focus. The plan couldn’t afford for him to lose his concentration - especially over something that didn’t matter. 

The dress was deceptively heavy against his skin as he let it fall over his body. A comforting weight as he took a deep breath in to pull the zip up all the way to the top. 

Time really was getting away from him - Luka had already spent too long dawdling, he really must get on. One last check in the mirror and-

Luka froze. 

He didn’t recognise the person staring back at him. 

Well, that wasn’t quite true. He knew who this man was, but it wasn’t Luka Howell. 

Peter Nureyev stared back at him. 

Maybe it was only obvious to him - his shoulders sloped downwards instead of holding themselves casually, his arms were tucked close to his body like he was trying to disappear, and his _eyes_! So sad and vulnerable, it was nearly frightening how much they bared his soul. Maybe he could still complete the job with Peter sitting above his skin instead of hidden deep below. 

No, that was too risky. Peter Nureyev was a liability. Too emotional, Too unreliable, too easily distracted by handsome (ex-)PI’s. It was hard enough keeping him under control when the whole crew was sitting around eating dinner, let alone when it would just be a couple of them for an extended period of time where alcohol was sure to be on offer. 

Peter Nureyev was _okay,_ and for this job, okay wasn’t good enough. 

(When was Peter ever good enough, anyway?)

Luka Howell shut his eyes tight. He gave himself a minute to just breath. To get himself under control again. There was no use bringing Mars’ trauma with him when they were lightyears away. He could fall apart when the job was done and no sooner, Luka promised himself. 

Luka opened his eyes and smiled when he recognised his reflection. 

(It didn't matter if his reflection didn’t quite meet his eye anyway, it was good enough.)

One step at a time. Smooth out the creases of the dress, pin back that stray lock of hair, wipe away that small smudge of lipstick. He was ready. Grab the purse from his desk and open the door. 

Another door had opened a few seconds before his, and Luka was so wrapped up in checking the contents of his purse that he didn’t notice bumping into someone. On instinct, a hand reached out to catch him as he reached back, gripping a suit lapel to steady himself. 

“Hey, I got you.” 

The voice was as familiar to him as his own and Luka wondered when the universe would stop playing cruel tricks on him. 

“Here I was thinking I was going to be fashionably late,” Luka said teasingly, “turns out we’re both tardy, Juno.”

He regained his balance and finally looked up to meet Juno’s eye. 

For the second time that night, Luka Howell froze. 

Juno was _beautiful_. 

A tailored suit (that had Buddy’s influence written all over it) with no tie, a black eye patch with white silk ties, diamond cufflinks and his top few buttons undone just to tease. It should’ve been the most nondescript outfit to appear at the casino, but there was something about the way Juno carried himself now that made it breathtaking. 

“Luka, are you doing okay?” Juno asked, his forehead creasing in concern. 

Luka couldn’t breathe. He could feel Peter beating against the inside of his ribs, begging to reach out and _hold_ him, just _hold_ him. Forget the job, forget the crew, just hold Juno until the inevitable heat death of the universe, until they were indistinguishable.

 _Lord…_ When did Peter Nureyev get so _weak_?

So pathetic. 

“Luka, what’s wrong? Hey, talk to me.”

Juno’s hands were back on Luka’s shoulders and it was almost too much. 

Almost. 

His hand was gripping Juno’s jacket like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. He was memorising every feature of Juno’s face. 

A long moment passed between them before Luka spoke. 

“Rita won’t tell me what happened on Mars.” It sounded like an accusation, and it probably was meant to be one. 

“You asked her?”

“Jet too. Neither of them will tell me what happened to you.” Luka said, finally letting his grip on Juno loosen, but he kept his hand where it was. “What happened to you, Juno?

This was more emotion than Peter had shown him since he’d arrived, and it was almost too much. Peter could feel that familiar burn in his throat and he hated himself for it. For how much he still _cared._

Their rooms were a few doors apart but Peter could still hear when Juno paced the hallway in the middle of the night. Had still caught glimpses of the man he was before and more of a man he’d never met. This wasn’t the Juno he knew and Peter had no way to tell if that was a good thing or not. 

“A lot of things happened on Mars.” Juno said. It was the truth, but not the answer Luka was looking for. 

“Tell me why you left, and Rita came with you.” Peter half-demanded. 

It took Juno a minute before he answered. 

“There was nothing left for us there.” 

Peter could feel the breath leave him all at once. He _hated_ how earnest Juno was. Hated how the city that had taken Juno from him spat Juno out barely a year later. It wasn’t fair. 

“ _Why_ Juno?” Peter pressed. He needed a solid answer. Needed something to cling to, something that tied together the Juno he loved and the Juno stood in front of him. 

It took Juno longer to answer this time around. 

“Did I ever tell you I was a twin?” The words left Juno’s mouth and they hit like a punch to the chest. 

“Was?” Peter asked, already regretting leaving his room when he had, regretting stepping aboard this ship, regretting ever donning the Rex Glass persona and trying to steal that mask. 

“He was killed when we were nineteen. I’d already left home by then, but he’d stayed.” Juno said slowly, like drawing out a blade from a wound in order to let stitch it up. “I made my peace with my family when the Hanataba was removing the THEIA device from my eye.”

More questions. More and more, the longer Juno spoke. They all pressed against Peter’s teeth, begging to be said, to be set free, to be answered. 

But he couldn’t put Juno through that. So instead he asked:

“What was he called? Your brother?” 

“Benzaiten.” Juno said, the smallest flicker of a smile on his face, “I think you would’ve liked him.”

“I’m sure I would.” Peter agreed. He finally let his hand sink back to his side. “You’re still not telling me the whole story.”

“I don’t think we have time for the whole story-” Juno said, flickering back into the old Juno for just a second. 

“Then give me _something_ , Juno.” Peter begged. “I don’t recognise you, you’ve changed so much,” _and I’m still the same!_

The unsaid words hung between them like a physical weight. 

Peter had spent all this time thinking that Juno had forgotten about him, than he just wasn’t good enough, that Juno wasn’t able to leave his home and runaway with him. But then he’d left Hyperion City anyway and Peter needed to know what had _changed_. Did Juno change too much, beaten down by the place he had given everything to? Did the city change, abandoning him and leaving him with no olive branch to cling to? 

Or had they both changed? Had the whole damn universe changed while Peter had been too busy wallowing in his broken heart and stolen goods to even notice?

Honestly, Peter didn’t know which answer would hurt the most. 

Juno’s fingertips were soft where they brushed against Peter’s face, his calloused thumb running across his cheek. 

“I’m still Juno,” He promised, “I’m just trying to change the unpleasant parts of me. The addictions, the lying, the not thinking things through. I didn’t care about myself before, and… and now I like who I can be.”

Then Peter did something that felt even more impulsive than the first time he did it. 

Then Peter leaned in and kissed Juno Steel. 

Not for long, mind, just a few seconds. He kept his eyes shut, holding Juno’s face and breathing in his cologne. 

(At least the way Juno kissed him back hadn’t changed after everything that had happened.)

Luka stepped back, letting a sated Peter slip back beneath his ribs quietly. Juno looked stupefied, and Luka dismissed the colour in his face without bothering to think up an explanation. 

“That’s for not saying goodbye.” Luka said, turning on his heel and walking down the hallway. 

He didn’t see the look on Juno’s face as he turned his back, and he didn’t care to know what he would see even if he had. 

Luka certainly didn’t see Juno’s fingertips gently brush his lips as the door slid shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and this, dear readers, is where the match is struck
> 
> i thought about holding off on an update for a little while bc i’m going to be super busy soon but like,,, i love this chapter and i’m real proud of it


	6. Carries Our Exuberance Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Crown Leviathan Casino was the most elite gambling den this side of the asteroid belt, and it took a bank account balance of seven figures to even get the address of the place, never mind getting your foot in the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO ABOUT THAT POSTER RELEASE

The Crown Leviathan Casino was the most elite gambling den this side of the asteroid belt, and it took a bank account balance of seven figures to even get the address of the place, never mind getting your foot in the door. 

It was the exact place that an ex-cop and ex-private eye should never have seen the inside of without at least a dozen other highly-armed backup. Only the richest of the rich and scum of the cosmos would socialise there amongst themselves. 

Juno didn’t quite believe Buddy when she insisted that he’d fit right in wearing what he was, but now that he was in the thick of it... Juno had to admit, he was pretty invisible in the crowd. And that was exactly what he wanted. 

The phrase Buddy used was ‘ _old money_ ’, and it had taken looking around at all the different kinds of people inside the casino to appreciate that phrase. Most of the people were dressed like they had something to prove - and they probably did. Lavish outfits made of materials that had never even made it to Mars, jewellery that probably cost more than everything Juno had ever owned in his life combined, smiles as fake as the sky he grew up under. 

The whole charade would’ve been funny any other time Juno _wasn’t trying_ to infiltrate a gangsters casino. 

(Hell, it was a little funny even when he was.)

“What can I get you, handsome?” 

Juno blinked and looked up at Buddy. Her disguise was almost flawless, and Juno would never have known there was something amiss with her eye if he didn’t already know her. (Not that he could judge, anyway.) 

“I thought the staff weren’t allowed to flirt,” Juno said, slipping into character easily. Rae Hooke, the reclusive heir to a long-held fortune that, on paper, was about rare gemstones from across the solar system. In reality, his family delt in… Well, nothing that could be proven by the law. 

Buddy just shrugged, and Juno had to hide his smile. 

“Just fishing for tips, sir. What can I get you?” Buddy asked again, leaning on the counter slightly. He had to admire her cool demeanour. Then again, her job was to just sit back and observe. And then swoop in, if she needed to. 

Casually, Juno lifted his hand to his ear, covering the moment of switching on his Comm with scratching his ear. 

“A Saturn Sunrise. On the rocks.” Juno said, already looking away in disinterest as he covertly turned off his comm. He caught Buddy’s nod and her turning away. She’d gotten the message: _all safe, no trouble yet_. 

A Venus Beach, neat meant “ _be on your guard. No trouble yet, but likely._ ”

A Murder on Mars meant “ _there’s_ _trouble. We’re getting out, now._ ” 

(The irony of the name was not - and had never been - lost on Juno. Luckily, he didn’t tend to drink cocktails if he could help it.) 

So far, Juno had been ordering his drinks on the rocks. And without alcohol - thanks to his unspoken agreement with Buddy.

She slid the drink to him and Juno took it without a word, already turning his back on Buddy to observe the room. He leaned against the Southern bar, just watching the world go by for a few moments. 

In the distance, he could see Vespa dealing cards at a table with five wealthy-looking men and seven scandalously dressed girls. Even from the bar, he could see the small twitch in Vespa’s fingers and the poison in her gaze whenever the men spoke. 

If Juno had any fond memories of the Vixen Valley, he might’ve been nostalgic.

Rita was sat at a booth in the corner, tapping away at a tablet, blending in about as well as Rita could in this environment. At least, no one seemed to be paying attention to her so far. There was a deep temptation in Juno to go over and strike up a conversation, pretend they were strangers just so he could be close if something went wrong.

Instead, Juno stayed where he was, and shifted his eye back to watch the various card games where well-dressed men lost a lot of money and pretended that it wasn’t a big deal. 

A minute or so passed and Buddy leaned forwards, sliding another drink towards Juno’s elbow. He looked down at it, then up at her with a small, questioning look on his face. 

“From an admirer,” Buddy answered, pointing towards another figure at the bar. 

Juno’s eye followed where she was pointing and quickly hid his surprise. 

Luka Howell watched him from further up, cocking his head very slightly to the side. A silent invitation. 

One that Juno gladly took. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Juno asked, taking his new drink with him as he moved to beside Luka and sipping it.

“You seem like one of the more interesting people here. I figured you’d be good for a conversation or two.” Luka replied. His long fingers lightly tapped against his glass, and Juno felt relieved at least that they were ordering the same drinks. 

“I think that depends on what we talk about,” Juno said. “Then again, I don’t know what I would talk about with someone like you that wouldn’t get me kicked out here for indecency.” 

He was beginning to understand why Peter spent so much of his life living as different people; it made things just a bit more fun. 

There was a small look that flitted across Luka’s face and for a split second Juno recognised Rex Glass. (The memories that tagged along weren’t nearly as attractive, but at least they were fond.)

Luka laughed and Juno’s chest _ached._ That was Peter’s laugh. 

“I think I see now why you’re so popular around here,” Luka said, leaning forward slightly. 

He smiled, brushing his lips against the shell of Juno’s ear. An involuntary shiver ran down Juno’s spine as Luka’s voice lowered to a whisper. 

“That man over there hasn’t stopped staring at you all night. I’d be jealous if we weren’t on the clock.” 

Juno’s heartbeat picked up in his chest as Luka leaned away, a small smirk on his face. It felt like flirting but Juno knew better than to misinterpret the message. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” _How worried should I be?_ Juno asked.

“I haven’t finished this one.” _Not too worried but be on your guard._ Luka said, spinning very slightly in his chair to face _just_ away from Juno. 

“I don’t think I caught your name,” Juno said, letting himself indulge in the fantasy, just for a moment. 

“ _Er, hey Boss? I mean Lady Boss? Miss Buddy?_ ” Rita’s voice rang over the Comms and Juno saw both Buddy and Luka’s minuscule reaction to her voice. 

He saw Buddy out of the corner of his eye walk towards the staff-only area at the back of the bar, and a few seconds later heard her voice through his ear. 

“ _What’s happening Rita?_ ” 

Luka quickly caught Juno’s eye and leaned in again, quickly striking up a conversation about nothing, really, but it was enough to throw off anyone who might’ve been listening in. 

“ _Did you say this place is in the middle of being sold? For a crazy amount of money?_ ” Rita’s voice asked. 

“ _The buyer’s unknown, but they’re paying a couple hundred million credits for this place,_ ” Buddy said, as Juno asked a question about Luka’s dress (and not so coyly reaching out to touch the fabric of his arm.)

“ _I don’t want to alarm anyone but I think I know who the buyers are_.” Rita’s voice was quieter now. Luka’s hand covered Juno’s - a calculated move that kept him rooted to the spot. He could feel Luka’s pulse against his fingers. (It was as quick as his - for whichever reason Juno wanted to believe)

“ _Do you need m-_ ” Buddy began, but she was cut off by a new voice, faintly over the line. 

“ _Rita! Is that you?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time, no post, huh?  
> uni and theatre work is pretty much kicking my butt rn BUT the penumbra's coming back soon and i rEFUSE TO CONTAIN MY EXCITEMENT!!!! I'VE ALREADY GOT HOPES SKY HIGH AND THEY AIN'T COMING DOWN!!!!!
> 
> I wrote like, half of this chapter a few months and finished it this week bc procrastination, ya know?

**Author's Note:**

> i'm gothic-cepho on tumblr and GothIntern on twitter


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